


The Idol's Sweetheart

by momothespicy (momothesweet)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Idol Oikawa Tooru, Reader is a little sassy, Reader-Insert, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothespicy
Summary: Your university has been blessed with the presence of the amazing, talented idol, Oikawa Tooru. You don't care very much for him until you give him a chance.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 241





	The Idol's Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for [kamaycee](https://kamaycee.tumblr.com/)! :D
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing Oikawa as an idol and a reader who isn't having his shit. Until she is lol
> 
> Enjoy!

You groan and fight every nerve in your body to keep yourself from flipping off the security guard who just denied you from going your usual route to the social sciences building. Thanks to some high-powered idol filming a music video, some parts of campus are closed. Naturally, the universe decided that this is a prime opportunity to inconvenience you, a student very close to earning her master’s degree, with only a thesis defense to complete in just a few weeks.

“He’s only gonna be here for the week,” your friend says as they walk next to you. “You can handle taking the long way until then, right?”

“It’s not that,” you explain. “It’s all the students who aren’t gonna shut up about him. I’ve already seen enough of him on Twitter. He’s not even that good-looking. And that one song he has on the radio is annoying.”

You mimic the song in a pitchy voice and groan again. Your friend laughs. “Have you tried listening to the rest of the album?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Because it’s _good_ ,” your friend says. “You should give it a shot. Put it as background noise while you proofread your thesis for the millionth time.”

Your friend has a point, but you don’t budge. “I am _not_ going to listen to Oikawa Tooru while I work.”

***

The first half of the day goes by fast after you get over the long-winded route and the insistent gushing of your students in your morning class. Upon grading some homework and answering emails (without Oikawa’s music, per your words), you have the time to grab some coffee and a snack before heading to a meeting with your advisor. Thankfully, the route to get to the on-campus coffee shop from the social sciences building isn’t far or blocked off. When you get to the coffee shop, though, you might as well have ordered ahead of time.

There’s a loud crowd in the dining area. You’ve never seen the shop get this busy unless it’s finals week. You tip the tired barista extra well once you grab your drink and pastry of choice, then peek to see the commotion Oikawa Tooru is causing on this weekday.

“I just couldn’t commit to her,” he explains to the surprisingly attentive audience he has around him. Everyone’s turned their chairs and tables towards Oikawa at the corner of the shop with his bodyguards standing tall like they’re protecting a precious artifact. He sips his blended drink with too much whipped cream in it as he continues, “It wouldn’t have been fair for her to be in a relationship where I wouldn’t be as present as she wanted me to be.”

You overhear a freshman sigh like she’s met the man of her dreams. “He’s so considerate,” she whispers to her friend.

“I love how honest he is,” the friend says.

Tired of whatever bullshit seminar he’s put on in this shop, you roll your eyes and comment loud enough for the people around you to hear, “Give me a fucking break.”

Oikawa just so happens to hear it and everyone else turns to you like you now have a bounty on your head.

“Wait, wait,” Oikawa says, calming down the sharp tongues coming out, then looking at you. “Do you have something to say, sweetheart?”

“ _Sweetheart_?” You clutch your drink that’s in danger of bursting out of its cup. “You make a living putting on some pretty face and singing shit that doesn’t mean anything. Grow up.”

To your surprise, Oikawa simply widens his eyes and studies you. He looks ready to reply, but the angry faces and nasty comments about your appearance drive you to leave immediately before you’re mobbed by undergrads.

***

The wrath of fangirls is unrelenting. You’ve become the pariah of Oikawa’s fandom thanks to the hard work of social media and gossip queens. The silver lining in all of this is that you can isolate yourself to focus on things that matter: your thesis, for example.

Your apartment across from campus is a quiet sanctuary from the hordes of fans watching Oikawa dance across the courtyard and lip-synch to his new single. After making yourself comfortable at your desk, you open up your laptop and your music player. Of course, you see Oikawa as a suggested “hot” artist. His brown hair sweeps over his forehead in the glamor shot, eyes half-lidded with his tongue barely sticking out like he’s trying to seduce you into listening to him.

“He’s not cute,” you mutter to yourself, clicking out of the window to open up a massive document you need to go through again. 

A page and a half in and your apartment is still dead silent. You open up the music player again and stare at the front page.

_Do you have something to say, sweetheart?_

You make a noise of disapproval when Oikawa’s words come back to your head and click on a random playlist to get away from looking at his face. To keep yourself from wasting more time picking something to listen to, you hit shuffle and get right back to work.

Everything seems normal for a bit. You shorten a sentence here, double-check a source there. Halfway into your proofreading, an unfamiliar song starts to play. You pause to listen to the lyrics, an intimate and vaguely somber bop about a past encounter that ultimately ended in heartbreak. The concept isn’t new by any means (the songs before this were about some form of love). However, this song as a whole hits differently when you can actually feel the regret emanating from the artist’s voice, juxtaposed with an upbeat melody that tries to soften the obvious blow. Before the song ends, you open up the music player to see what it is. 

You’re ready to throw your laptop out the window.

“Well, shit,” you mumble to yourself, finally giving him the chance and opening up his artist page. His stupid smirk and so-called sultry gaze try to draw you in further. It still doesn’t do much for your tastes.

Sighing deeply, you put on his debut album, then queue up his new sophomore album that he’s apparently been promoting over the last couple of weeks. As you continue to do your work, a small part of you latches onto his surprisingly poignant and sometimes satirical lyrics. He’s got a range of emotions to convey through music and you can appreciate how he goes from poetic songwriter to commercial pop star, like he knows exactly what he and his team can produce to reach a wide audience. It’s almost infuriating that he’s got that grip in you now, even if it’s a small one.

By the time you finish going through your thesis and his two albums, you rise from your seat and walk around your apartment to take a break and process what kind of hellish hole you dug yourself into. You open up your social media apps to plans on an all-out verbal assault on “the anti-Oikawa coffeeshop girl.” None of these people have found your private accounts and you’re sure they won’t be able to do so. As you scroll through other posts, you stumble upon one from Oikawa himself:

_Reminder! Please don’t bully other people just because they don’t have the same taste in music as you <3 _

You snort. It’s a nice message to think about as you set your phone aside and go back to being productive. Oikawa’s albums are set to repeat.

***

The chaos dies down as the next few days pass. Rabid fans channel their misguided energy elsewhere when Oikawa encourages them through social media to do other things that make them happy. You’re not sure how genuine he is when he posts stuff like that. After following him on a few platforms and poking through his hashtags during your downtime, it’s become more apparent that he isn’t hiding very much. He upholds his flamboyance and his dedication to music in every Q&A, every chance encounter recorded by a fan. The more you see him other lights, the more you tolerate him.

Your friend catches you humming one of his B-sides as the two of you eat lunch in the grad students’ lounge. They stare and smirk so hard it’s disgusting.

“You know, he’s playing an acoustic set at the coffee shop tomorrow,” they say. “You should sweet talk those guards into getting you in. Every seat’s already reserved.”

You frown. “I’m not going to that.”

“Why not? His fans aren’t coming after you anymore. Plus, I’ve seen the way you look at your phone.”

They mimic your face, grinning like an idiot and playing with your hair. You flip them off. “I don’t look like that.”

“Whatever. Just go. Why is it so hard for you to admit that you like him?”

You think about that question as you head for the coffee shop the next evening. The sun’s setting and every other student who doesn’t care about Oikawa Tooru heads home or to their evening classes. Outside the shop are desperate fans who didn’t manage to reserve their spot. You manage to weave your way through them. A bodyguard stops you right in your tracks, as expected. Some people spot your familiar face and the unwelcome whispers begin.

The talking serves its purpose, though, as Oikawa notices the sudden commotion and stops playing his warmup to look across the shop, right at the entryway where you’re standing.

He says your first name and you swallow hard. “I’m glad you made it. Have you changed your mind about me?”

What feels like a million pairs of eyes stare laser beams at you. You can’t speak for what feels like a long minute. When you don’t answer, Oikawa beckons you. “I saved a seat just for you in the front row.”

Many questions run through your head. None of it gets answered for the time being, as Oikawa goes back to addressing the entire audience and begins to play the song that won you over earlier this week. The acoustic version arguably sounds even better than the original.

The entire set is lovely. An unfiltered performance shines a light on Oikawa’s skill and natural charm. Besides the ones who tend to scream after every song he plays, on top of the pretty words that make them cry, you enjoy your raw exposure to him, understanding why he’s getting all the attention. It’s well-deserved.

You’re not sure if you deserve all of Oikawa’s subtle glances throughout the show, though. When he leaves the small stage and when the fans beg for an encore, the bodyguard from the front door makes his way towards you, says your name, and escorts you out of the shop to the closed-off courtyard nearby. Oikawa taps his fingers around a water bottle, knees bouncing, and shoots his head up when you arrive confused as ever.

He says your name again, followed by your undergraduate major, your current master’s program, and a student’s positive review of your introductory psychology class last semester. “So professional!”

“Um.” You look around. The bodyguards and fans are distanced far enough that you can openly express your bewilderment. “You looked me up?”

“One of your former students told me who you were after you tried to tell me off on Monday,” he says, “and I did the rest of the work. Impressive, right?”

“Creepy,” you correct.

Oikawa frowns. “I simply admired your honesty, and I wanted to learn more about you.”

He pats the spot next to him on the bench. Reluctantly, you take a seat. Up close and away from the spotlight, he’s kind of handsome. Kind of.

“Was my ‘honesty’ the only reason why you wanted to research me?”

Oikawa sips his water, uncertainty all over his face. “If I just said you were beautiful, I think you’d be gone by now.”

You blush. “You’re right.”

Confidence colors Oikawa’s face again. Sitting up straighter and winking, he brushes his hair back and you’re graced with a little more handsomeness. Just a little more.

“So,” he says, repeating your name and educational background, “can you tell me more about yourself?”

***

You do a lot more than tell him about yourself.

In fact, you take a giant leap forward and invite him over to your apartment. Where you show him your bedroom. And he pins you to your bed. While he kisses you like he hasn’t kissed in a long time.

Somewhere along the way, you got comfortable telling Oikawa about your thesis, your career plans, your nonexistent love life. He got comfortable telling you about his songwriting inspiration, his genuine passion for music, his troubles with maintaining a decent relationship. Both your paths crossed somehow in those conversations, that gradual buildup of sexual tension. Here you are now, giving in to your craving for a good night with a good person.

Oikawa’s a great kisser, albeit rough around the edges. The more he touches you, though, the more you come to realize that he likes it that way. He took the lead in kissing you, in bringing you to your own bedroom and laying you down like it’s his job to make you feel good. You can’t help but submit to his forwardness, spreading your legs for him and moaning against his lips.

“Giving yourself so easily to me?” he asks, eyes narrowed. He releases one of your wrists to reach between your legs and cup your cunt. “Let me have you.”

It’s not so much a question as it is a demand. “Please,” you whisper, suppressing the moan in your throat, “I’m all yours.”

Once you give him that consent, you undress each other. Various items of clothing fly off your skin, leaving you in just your panties while Oikawa’s left in his boxers, a small tent in his pants you know is only going to get bigger the more you fool around. He takes to getting to know more of you in the intimate setting, pressing kisses to your neck and sliding his hands to your tits for a squeeze. The sudden stimulation draws you upwards towards him, brushing against his half-hard cock. His moan sends shivers down your whole body.

“Desperate, I see,” Oikawa says. He doesn’t hesitate to reach beneath your panties to play with your clit. “Have you thought about me fucking you?”

Words jumble in your throat. You only respond with another moan as you squirm for more. “Yes,” you say, and it’s embarrassing to admit it after only delving into his music earlier this week. “It took me a few tries to realize how handsome you are.”

Your honesty is rewarded with two of his fingers pushing easily inside your soaked pussy. You cry out as he grins above you, “That’s what I like to hear. Tell me you want my cock.”

His curled fingers stretching you open make it that much harder for you to speak. You clutch his shoulders, shoving your pleas out of your mouth to respond, “I want your cock. Please, Oikawa, I need it.”

“Good girl.” He pumps his fingers even more for good measure, getting you right to the edge until he stops suddenly and pulls his fingers out. They’re a sticky sight when he holds them up to his lips. Once he sucks them dry, he gets to work getting you and himself naked.

You lay bare before him, legs spread and showing off your flushed pussy. Oikawa strokes his cock after he kicks off his boxers, licking his lips as he eyes you up and down like you’re prey waiting to be devoured. 

“Please,” you beg again, spreading yourself to show how slick you are, “fuck me.”

Oikawa practically pounces on you, sliding his cock in with little resistance from your end. He snaps his hips to give you the last inch of his cock, fully sheathed inside you. Your mind ceases to function properly. Instead, all you think about is how amazing he feels fucking you, how amazing it feels to have him grab the backs of your knees and lift your legs towards your face with the strength he’s been hiding from you.

“Perfect pussy,” he praises, pounding into you like he’s in dire need of an orgasm, “so good at taking my cock.”

You clench your sheets and moan, unable to stop yourself from making so much noise. Your toes curl as he thrusts harder, pulls your legs further. Oikawa knows exactly how to handle you, and he knows just what to do to get you off, first.

He throws your legs over his shoulders and leans forward, angling himself just right to find that sweet spot inside you. You moan louder and squeeze his cock around you, hanging onto your bed for dear life.

“I found it,” he declares with a dark chuckle. Reaching around to rub your clit, he growls your name, “Do you want to come for me?”

You nod frantically as he fucks that spot over and over again. “I want--I want to--fuck--”

“Come on my cock,” he commands, rubbing your clit faster as he presses his arms towards your thighs to keep your legs from flying, “I want to feel you get _tight_ around it.”

Nothing stops you from obeying him. You wrap your legs and press your heels into his back as you come hard on his cock. Your body trembles uncontrollably, savoring every last pulse of pleasure that runs through your veins. You moan his name as you come, chanting it like a prayer blessing you with euphoria. Oikawa doesn’t stop fucking you. He doesn’t stop pumping his cock into your wet cunt. Letting go of your clit, he holds onto your legs again and works you through your orgasm until he hits his own. Hot white bursts paint your insides and his deep, breathy moans fill your ears. 

You breathe heavily with him, relaxing your fingers on your sheets as your legs fall away from his grip. He whimpers as he pulls out of you, a sound you don’t expect to hear from him after what the two of you have just done.

For now, you ignore the mess between your legs. With your limbs stretched out, Oikawa falls on his back beside you. You both stare up at the ceiling together, chests heaving.

“I...wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Could’ve been rougher.”

“Mm.”

The two of you grow quiet. Now that your rational thoughts have returned post-coitus, a lot weighs on your mind. Oikawa Tooru is an idol. He has a music video coming out, plus a tour and several other events to attend with other famous people. He won’t be here for long. Ideally, he’d be getting up to leave now so he can get ready for his flight this weekend. You think back to his response to a fan’s question in the coffee shop earlier this week, about how he couldn’t commit. Are you going to be another subject of his music? Another lost muse for him to channel his complicated feelings? Or will you be completely forgotten?

A much larger question is if you’re okay with all of that.

The silence grows to be too much. Oikawa picks up on it, and he turns over to kiss you. It’s more tender this time, less needy.

“Don’t think about it now,” he whispers, placing a hand on your chest. “I’ll have you again if you let me.”

He’s right. Tonight is something you’ll always have, despite everything that may lie ahead. It’s in your best interest to not take this time for granted.

You smile, then turn over and bend your knees to lift your ass in the air. “Show me what else your mouth can do besides sing to adoring fans.”

Oikawa smirks, licking his lips again as he rises from bed to smack your ass. You gasp, clenching around nothing when he answers you, “I’ll show you everything I can do, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, feedback and a successful thesis defense are greatly appreciated. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](https://peachofwork.tumblr.com)


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